As lawrell leaves that cease not to be green
From parching sun, nor yet from winter's threat:
As harden'd oak that fear'th no sword so keen,
As flint for tool in twain that will not fret,
As fast as rock or pillar surely set
So fast I am to you, and aye have been,
Assuredly whom I cannot forget,
For joy, for pain, for torment nor for tene,
For loss, for gain, for frowning nor for threat,
But ever one, yea, both in calm and blast,
Your faithful friend, and will be to my last.